


Sniper Salute

by JR Granger (JR_Granger)



Series: Tumblr Fic [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: The First Avenger, F/M, M/M, and peggy knows best, as per usual, as she do, slight allusion to polyamory, the boys are being dense idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JR_Granger/pseuds/JR%20Granger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve keeps giving away Bucky's position when the Howlies are in the field. Bucky makes it his mission to find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sniper Salute

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I //have// been subsumed by the Stucky fandom, thank you for asking. This little nugget has been naggin' at me ever since I saw the post linked below.
> 
> http://sarcasmfox.tumblr.com/post/145644064886/rrueplumet-that-moment-in-the-first-avenger
> 
> Unbeta'd. (So FYI, if y'all find anything that really needs to be fixed, grammar-, plot-, dialogue-, or character-wise, hit me up.) Rated for language.

Sight the target through the scope. Line up the shot, correcting for distance, wind resistance, and movement. Deep breath. Pull the trigger on the exhale.

Bucky ejects the shell from the chamber as the Hydra goon crumples where he stands, failing in attacking Captain America from behind. He’s just about to line up another shot, planning to take out one of the guys ganging up on Gabe and Monty, when he sees something he definitely should not when out in the field: Steve, eye-catching Steve with his ridiculous get-up, saluting Bucky. The sniper. Whose position should never be given away, even when they think of the enemies in the area have been taken care of.

Muttering expletives, Bucky grabs his rifle and swings it over his shoulder, scrambling away from his position at the window of a bombed out apartment building. None too soon too, since bullets ricochet off the walls and embed themselves in the floor right where Bucky was set up only moments before. With a grumble he heads toward the back exit he found earlier, hoping none of the Hydra soldiers have seen it, and heads toward the secondary spot he scoped out just in case. The vantage point is shit, not offering the best bird’s eye view or cover, but it’ll have to do. Hopefully Jim and Dum Dum can lead enough of the Hydra over to the spots Frenchy set up his explosives.

Luckily it works out and Bucky gets away from this mission without getting shot at again. He needs to have words with his commanding officer and so-called best friend though.

“Steve,” he says as soon as they get to their campsite for the night, “we need to talk.”

“Uh oh,” Dum Dum says with a smirk, nudging Monty, “something’s got Sarge’s panties in a twist.”

Ignoring Dum Dum’s comment, Steve turns to Bucky with a raised eyebrow. “What is it, Bucky?”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest and raises his eyebrow back. “You gave my position away out there.”

Steve frowns. “Did I? When –“ He cuts himself off and his eyes widen, probably remembering that salute. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, Buck. I didn’t even realize –“

Rolling his eyes, Bucky waves it off. “It’s fine; just don’t do it again. I got lucky this time, having another vantage point to go to that miraculously nobody else noticed.” He slaps a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “I can’t watch your six if I’m running around trying to find a new spot without getting my head blown off.”

Sheepish grin in place, Steve leans into the touch. “Won’t happen again, I promise.”

 ~    *    ~    *    ~

It happens three more times in as many missions before becoming a more sporadic occurrence. Part of Bucky wonders if Steve’s doing this on purpose; he’s always had a ridiculously good memory and the serum only enhanced that, so it can’t be that he keeps forgetting. But Bucky dismisses that though immediately. Steve may be a sarcastic little shit, and he may have a knack for keeping Bucky on his toes by causing all kinds of trouble, but he’d never intentionally put anyone in harm’s way. Especially not Bucky.

Still, there has to be a reason Steve keeps saluting Bucky after he saves his ass from getting his head bashed in or a bullet in the back. At this point the Howlies think it’s funny. They all laugh their asses off afterwards, speculating over what Bucky’s face must look like as he scurries for new cover, cursing up a storm as a hail of bullets trail after his feet.

“I always see you yelling something, Sarge,” Jim comments one night over rations, all of them huddled around the first fire they’ve been able to build in days, finally far enough from enemy lines for it to be safe. “What’re you saying?”

Stabbing at the nearly frozen Spam, Bucky says drily, “I’m cursing Rogers’ name and his very existence, wondering why I put up with his shit.”

As the others all laugh, Bucky looks at Steve next to him, who has this innocent and perfectly apologetic look on his face – too apologetic. When Steve really feels sorry for something he’s done, he looks sheepish and disgruntled and ridiculously adorable. “Sorry.” And he certainly never apologizes with a smile. Not when he means it.

Narrowing his eyes, Bucky studies Steve’s face for a few seconds longer – far longer than is really normal, to be honest, but the Howlies are used to seeing them do weird shit – before turning back to the fire and his rations.

Later, when the others are asleep and Bucky’s settling down for first watch, he can feel someone’s eyes on him and he just knows they’re Steve’s.

Definitely something fishy going on here.

 ~    *    ~    *    ~

It’s not until they’re at base camp in London for more than a few days that Bucky finally finds out what Steve’s up to.

He and Peggy are at the bar they all frequent when they can, the one where Peggy walked in wearing that curve-hugging red dress and asked Steve for a dance. She’s nursing a scotch while Bucky’s got his whiskey, as is their custom whenever Steve’s stuck in press shenanigans. Steve may hate it, may feel like a performing monkey, but he sure does have a knack for dealing with bloodthirsty reporters. So do the rest of the Howlies. Peggy, by the nature of her work as a spy, avoids the spotlight at all costs. Bucky, despite the joke he had made about being invisible and feeling like Steve before the serum, craves the shadows more often than not these days. The one time the cameras caught him off guard joking around with Steve about something or other, the two of them laughing like they used to, afterwards, when he realized they’d been recorded without him even noticing, he’d felt exposed. Like something to be closely studied and picked apart. And that feeling was too similar to the way he had felt in Azzano for his comfort. So he’ll stick to the shadows when he can, where he can watch Steve’s six without fear of being watched in return.

With Peggy though – and the rest of the Howlies – Bucky was more than okay coming out of the shadows. Strangely, people had been surprised he and Peggy got on so well. He can’t even begin to understand why they would think otherwise; she and Doc Erskine were the only other ones to see in Steve, before the serum, what Bucky had since they were kids.

Not that all that matters though. He and Peggy get on great and they have the best talks. This particular talk involves Bucky complaining about the shit Steve’s been pulling.

“Stevie’s always been too smart for his own good,” he says, fiddling with his glass between gestures, “and he’s got a real knack for this tactical shit. So I don’t get why the punk keeps giving away my damn position.”

Raising an eyebrow, Peggy takes a sip of her scotch. “How many times has he done this?”

Bucky buries his face in his hands with a groan. “Seventeen, Peggy. Seventeen times.” He looks at her through his fingers and sees her other eyebrow has joined the first. “He’s gonna be the death of me, I swear.” He cocks his head in consideration. “Well, I always figured he would be, what with all the fights I have to pull him out of and all the winters I’ve had to nurse him through. I just never thought he’d get me _shot_ to death.”

Peggy hums in thought. “Perhaps it’s a test.”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky tosses back what’s left of his whiskey – which is half the glass. “What kinda test would involve my ass getting shot at? I fell out of a tree last week, Peggy! That shit ain’t fun!”

“To be fair, you also fell out of a tree last month because you had fallen asleep up there and a woodland creature startled you.”

Bucky throws his hands up. “That ain’t the same! I wasn’t bein’ shot at that time.”

“Too right,” Peggy agrees, but Bucky can hear the laughter in her voice. That paired with the smirk on her lips makes him glare at her.

“You know what he’s up to, don’t you?”

“Don’t be preposterous,” she scoffs, even as her smirk grows.

Groaning again, Bucky pushes his chair back from the table. “I need another fuckin’ drink.”

“Get me another scotch while you’re up?” He waves her off, having already planned on it.

When he gets back to the table with their drinks Peggy gives him a smile of thanks and takes a sip of hers.

“Perhaps you should try confronting him?” she suggests after a long silence.

Glare firmly in place, Bucky resists the urge to pout. “You think I haven’t tried that?”

“Alone?”

His brows furrow. “What?”

She gives him a flat look and speaks to him slowly, like a small child. “Have you tried confronting him when none of the others are around?”

Bucky huffs into his drink. “When’m I gonna do that? The few days we have between missions he’s either with you, with the press, planning the next attack, or sleeping in shared quarters. Alone time with his old childhood pal ain’t exactly high on the list o’ priorities.”

Peggy looks at him closely, making him squirm. He always worries she sees too much when she looks at him like that. “Perhaps I can help with that,” she says, voice softer than he’s ever heard it when she’s talking to anyone who’s not Steve.

 ~    *    ~    *    ~

That night Bucky’s at the bar getting the next round of drinks when Peggy walks over and without further ado hands him a key. Leaning his elbow on the bar, he cocks an eyebrow at her.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to spend a night in with you, Pegs,” he says, putting in the same amount of charm as he did the night he asked her to dance, “but isn’t there someone else you’d rather step out with?”

She rolls her eyes at him. “Not for you and me, idiot,” she says, voice exasperated but fond – he hopes that’s fondness at least. “For you and Steve. So you can finally talk about why he’s being an idiot in the field. Well,” she amends when he raises his eyebrows higher, “more of an idiot than usual, since it’s not just his own life he’s been putting in danger.”

Bucky takes the key from her, turning it around and around in his fingers. “And how do you propose I get him to come to the room with me?”

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she says, smirking.

He stares at her, his heart beating way too quickly in his chest as he hopes she isn’t implying what he thinks she is.

“What?” Peggy puts a hand on her hip. “Do I have to do all the work for you, Sergeant?”

Sighing, Bucky slips the key in his pocket and grabs half the drinks the bartender set by his arm. “No, I guess not.”

“Good man.” With a pat to his arm and a wink, Peggy grabs the rest of the drinks for him and heads back to the table in the center of the room the Howlies commandeer every time they’re in London, leaving Bucky staring after her in wonder.

 ~    *    ~    *    ~

At the end of the night, as always Bucky and Steve are the last ones left at the bar. They usually stay behind so Steve can pay the tab. Plus these nights are the few times they get alone – well, as alone as they can get in a bar full of other people. But Peggy is right; Bucky needs to get Steve to that room so they can actually talk. So he says the first excuse that comes to mind.

“I haven’t gotten a good night’s sleep since before I left for Basic,” he says, holding up the key and trying not to think about what he thinks Peggy may have been implying, “and I know you haven’t either, so why don’t we stay in a room at the place next door?”

Steve tries to adopt a stern face, but Bucky can see the smirk on the edge of his lips. “What makes you think I haven’t slept well?” he asks.

“Please,” Bucky says with a snort, ignoring out of reflex what that smirk has always done to him. “You and I both know neither of us have slept well alone since we were kids.”

Humming in agreement, Steve leans back and crosses him arms over his chest, smirk more apparent now. “And what makes you think I’ll spend the night off-base without permission from Colonel Phillips?”

Arms folded on the table, Bucky leans forward, voice conspiratorial. “You’ve never asked permission for a single thing in your life.”

“True,” Steve laughs, getting up and straightening his jacket. “All right,” he mock sighs, “let’s go to our illicit room.”

Grinning and ignoring the thoughts that evokes, Bucky leads the way.

 ~    *    ~    *    ~

When they get there Bucky locks the door behind them, which Steve raises an eyebrow at.

“Afraid I’ll run away?” He starts taking off his dress uniform, laying out each article nicely. “Or afraid of what people might see if they walked in?”

Taking off his own uniform, Bucky shrugs. “You might.” He ignores the second question.

Steve pauses as he’s unbuttoning his shirt and toeing off his boots at the same time. “Bucky, why would you ever think I’d run away from you?”

He bites back his immediate answer – _because of what I’m becoming, what I’ve become, what I’ve been all along_ – and says instead, “I don’t know, Steve.” He throws his jack to the side and gestures widely. “Maybe the same reason you’ve been _deliberately_ giving away my position in the field?”

“Bucky, let me explain –“ Steve takes a step forward, reaching out.

Bucky backs away, his hands held in front of himself, blocking Steve. He doesn’t fail to notice the hurt look on Steve’s face, bringing a pang to his chest. “It has to be deliberate because I know neither Phillips or Carter would forget to teach you the importance of a sniper remaining hidden. Thing is, Steve,” he raises his hands and shrugs in askance, “I can’t for the life of me figure out why you would deliberately put anyone’s life in danger besides your own.”

For a moment Bucky’s sure Steve is going to brush him off again, make some excuse or bad joke and leave. He can see Steve considering it, eyes darting to look at the door over Bucky’s right shoulder. But Steve’s never been one to back down from a fight.

“I –“ He cuts himself off with a groan, running a hand over his face. “Maybe I’m trying to be the one to protect you for once, Bucky.”

“Since when is opening me up for enemy fire protecting me, Steve? Since when is _lying_ to me protecting me?” Bucky’s voice is calm, even, quiet, the way it always gets when his anger’s close to boiling over the surface.

“Since I thought it would make you leave,” Steve answers, voice just as quiet but eyes meeting Bucky’s dead-on.

That pang in his chest grows sharper and Bucky tries not to let the hurt show on his face, reaching towards that anger that was just in his grasp. “Why –“

“Because you had the chance to go home!” Steve explodes, throwing his hands out to the side and stepping toward Bucky again. “After Azzano. I know Phillips gave you the choice, that you could’ve taken an honorable discharge and gotten out of the hellhole.” He grabs Bucky’s biceps and grips them tight. “I know how much you wanted to go home, Buck; all your letters, all you could talk about was how much you missed Brooklyn. The dancing, the noise, the smog, those disgusting docks, our shitty apartment – it’s all you could write about! But you didn’t take the chance when you had it! So I thought, maybe, if –“

“If what?” Bucky interrupts. “If you put my life in danger enough times I’d leave you here to rot?” He knocks Steve’s arms away and shoves past him into the center of the room, gesturing widely with his anger. “You think I care about Brooklyn and that shitty apartment or, or dancing when you’re not there? You think I give a shit how much danger my life is in so long as you’re safe?”

Frowning, Steve tries to step close again. “Bucky –“

“When’re ya gonna get it through your thick skull? Huh, Stevie?” He grabs Steve by the shoulders and jostles him. “All my life, I been lookin’ out for you. Making sure you stayed warm in the winter, making sure you didn’t trigger another asthma attack or make your heart act up again, dragging you outta fights you picked before you got yourself killed, getting’ ya art supplies, putting food in your belly, nursin’ ya back to health from the brink o’ death.

“Watching your back, Steve, it’s what I do,” Bucky says, his voice breaking. “I’m nothin’ without that.” His throat feels raw, not from the yelling he just finished doing but from the angry tears he’s been holding back. “You may not need me anymore, but there’s no way in fuckin’ hell I’m leavin’ ya out here on your own; you’ll get yourself killed in two seconds flat with another one o’ your stupid stunts. I’m with you to ‘til the end of the line, pal, remember?”

Steve’s big, sad blue eyes dart between his own, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed. “Bucky…”

With a shake of his head Bucky lets go of Steve’s shoulders and stumbles back until his knees hit the side of the bed, forcing him to sit down. There he buries his face in his hands. “Jesus Christ…” he muffles into his palms, voice thick with the tears that finally forced their way through.

The bed sinks on his left as Steve sits down next to him and wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Bucky,” he says softly, resting his forehead against Bucky’s temple.

“If you say I’m worth more than lookin’ out for you, I swear to god, Steve,” Bucky protests, voice weak as he lets Steve tug his hands away from his face and twine the fingers of their left hands together.

Shaking his head, Steve’s sharp nose drags across Bucky’s cheekbone, spreading his tears across his face. “You are, though,” he says softly. “You’re worth so much more than that.”

Before Bucky can refute that with sound evidence, Steve pulls back and takes the arm around Bucky’s shoulders with him (much to Bucky’s disappointment). Instead, he brings that hand up to grasp Bucky’s chin, thumbing the dimple there as he turns Bucky’s face towards him.

“I’ll always need you, Buck,” he murmurs, stroking Bucky’s chin and then thumbing away a tear, his hand now cupping Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky gives a shaky sigh and closes his eyes as he leans their foreheads together. “What did I do to ever deserve you?”

Huffing a laugh, Steve wraps both arms around Bucky this time and pulls him in close, nuzzling their noses together before kissing Bucky’s forehead. “I don’t know,” he says into Bucky’s hair. “Musta eaten a lotta babies or somethin’ in a past life.”

Bucky chokes on a wet snort. “You’re such a fuckin’ punk, Rogers,” he grumbles, pulling back slightly and punching Steve hard in the chest.

Groaning, Steve rubs at him pectoral. “And you’re a jerk.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees with a smirk, leaning back in so that their lips are brushing as he speaks. “But I’m a jerk who’s been sharin’ you with certain Agent Carter.”

A shiver runs through Steve even as he responds flippantly, “That’s very generous of you, Buck. I know you’re not much of a sharer.”

“No, I’m not,” Bucky growls, pushing in the rest of the way and kissing Steve roughly.

 ~    *    ~    *    ~

The next time they’re out in the field, Bucky falls from another tree when Steve gives away his position again. On the way down he screams, “Goddammit, Steve!”

In the distance, he hears an obvious wince in Steve’s voice as he yells back, “I’m sorry! It was honestly an accident this time!”

Guess he’ll really have to find a way to drill that habit out of Steve. 


End file.
